F is for Food Fight
by Jelsemium
Summary: This is yet another refugee from Numb3rs dot org's 2006 Summer Alphabet Challenge. It's a combination of F is for Food Fight and its sequel, F is for Finals. It's silly. It's somewhat OOC. It is under a food advisory... NO EATING! NO DRINKING!
1. Chapter 1

F is for Food Fight

Chapter 1 of 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters

Author's Note:

If you think you've read this before, you probably have. It's Yet Another Story for the Summer 2006 Alphabet Challenge.

A humorous look at the relationship between the Don and Charlie. Set during the first season and as much influenced by my cats as by the Brothers Eppes. (This actually started out life as two separate stories, F is for Food Fight and its sequel: F is for Finals.)

Author's Warning: **NO food, NO drink**.

* * *

This had been the kind of week that they didn't show on television cop shows. One of their major cases had gone to trial and Don and his team had to be at court all day, ready to testify. It had been mind numbingly tedious. 

On the upside, California jurors did not hear testimony on Friday. So, Don had made an executive decision and ordered his team to take a three day weekend, as they were all overdue for time off.

Megan, David and Colby had looked at him as if he'd started spouting one of Charlie's esoteric theories. Then they had fled before he could change his mind.

Don chuckled at the memory of his hard case agents scampering away like scared bunnies. It was Thursday and a three day weekend stretched before him like a par three fairway.

He knew his father was away on a business trip. He also knew that Charlie had to work on Friday. So he did what any red-blooded American sibling would do when faced with a chunk of free time when there was no parental regulation on hand.

He dropped by the house to gloat.

There was no one in the kitchen, which explained why the soup had been allowed to boil over. Fortunately, the pot hadn't been too badly scorched. Don poured what little soup remained into a mug and put the pot into the sink to soak.

He finished the soup as he checked the backyard and the garage. The mug joined the pot in the sink before Don headed upstairs.

Charlie's bedroom was empty. Repeated calls elicited no response. It was late and Don wondered where Charlie could be. On a date? Of course, it wasn't like his baby brother was actually a baby who had a curfew, even if this was a school night.

Don sighed, seeing his chances for entertainment fade. It would be just his luck to get an actual three day weekend and have no one to spend it with. But then he tried the solarium and couldn't open the door.

At first, Don thought that Charlie had deliberately barricaded himself into the solarium.

The mathematician was too old to have accidentally locked himself in. (And frankly, Don still had his suspicions about that incident when Charlie was six. That had been a much too convenient method of getting out of weeding the yard.)

After a few minutes of pushing and swearing under his breath, he got the door open enough to see that the obstruction really was an accident this time. A pile of books had spilled in front of the door. Don pushed past them, and carefully stepped over them, and around the other stacks of books and papers.

Having successfully navigated the labyrinth, Don studied his brother for a few moments. Charlie was walking around the work table and collating paper from four different colored stacks. Don bet himself that they were the final exams that Charlie had put off until the last minute.

His brother wore an orange shirt that looked like a Salvation Army reject, denim cutoffs and an iPod. Don smirked at the sight. He'd taken at least two noise-filled minutes to get into the room and Charlie was so engrossed in his project that he hadn't even noticed. Of course, the iPod might have had something to do with that.

Don waited until Charlie had walked past him for the third time before deciding how to rectify this. His first attempt, knocking on wood, didn't work.

Attempt number two, clearing his throat, also proved futile.

He debated stepping into Charlie's path, but that seemed like a quick route to humiliation. Imagine the expressions on his team's faces when he had to admit he'd been hospitalized because Charlie had run him over… on foot.

The image of Charlie trampling him and not even noticing is what prompted Don to walk up behind his brother and bellow. "YO! CHARLIE!"

Charlie let out a squawk like a stepped on pigeon, whirled, lost his balance and wound up on the floor amidst a fluttering rainbow of papers.

Charlie looked up at Don in wide-eyed panic, until Don started laughing. Then a flashflood of annoyance crossed the younger man's face and he scrambled to his feet, swatting away Don's proffered hand.

"Don't do that!" Charlie snapped, clutching at his chest. He yanked the ear buds out and Don could faintly hear "Yellow Butta Sunshine" before Charlie turned the iPod off.

"What?" Don asked, grinning too much to even attempt an innocent look. "Slam through the front door, tramp around calling your name, stomp up the stairs, pound on the door, cause an avalanche pushing through your mess here and then stand in plain sight as you walk past me five or six times?"

Charlie stopped brushing his jeans off and glared. "Yes," he growled. "I hate it when you sneak up on me like that."

Don laughed again.

Charlie sighed. "I'm glad somebody is in a good mood," he grumped. He looked Don up and down. "How was court?" he asked, proving that he could actually listen and remember what other people said.

"Boring," Don summed it up succinctly. "So, what'cha up to?" Don asked, as if he didn't know. He sat down at the worktable. Then he noticed a plate holding a pastrami sandwich, a dill pickle spear and some potato chips on the other side.

"I'm finishing my final exams," Charlie said with as much dignity as he could muster. He picked up the scattered papers and shuffled them around.

While Charlie's attention was diverted, Don relocated.

When Charlie looked at him again, his pickle was nowhere to be seen.

"You gonna eat all this?" Don asked, gesturing to the plate with half of the sandwich.

"Ummm," Charlie said.

"Thanks," Don as he wolfed down half of the sandwich.

Charlie frowned.

"C'mon, Charlie, I'm starving," Don said, once he swallowed.

Charlie shook his head. "No, no, that's fine. I mean, you can help yourself. I just thought that I'd eaten that…"

"Oh, no problem, Buddy," Don said. He took Charlie at his word and ate the other half of the sandwich. "You're finalizing your finals, eh?"

Charlie rolled his eyes but didn't answer verbally.

"So, why aren't you done yet?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow at him. "There was this case…"

Don held up his hand. "Enough! That was important!"

"I know it was …" Charlie's voice trailed off and he blinked at the plate. It was empty, as Don had thoughtfully polished off the potato chips, as well.

"You hungry?" Don asked curiously.

"Uh, yeah," Charlie said, still staring at the plate. "I can have soup, though. There's some heating on the stove."

"Not any more, you let it boil over."

Charlie swore.

"Don't worry, Buddy, there's some left over lasagna in the fridge from the last time Dad cooked," Don said.

"I cooked that," Charlie said sulkily.

"Reheating something Dad left in the freezer for you doesn't count as cooking, Buddy," Don said. "Be right back."

He trotted downstairs before Charlie could come up with a rejoinder. He rooted through the refrigerator until he found the lasagna. He lifted the lid and estimated there was about a serving and a half left. He sniffed it, decided it was still edible and stuck the whole casserole dish in the microwave.

He helped himself to a Strohs while he was there. When the lasagna was fully irradiated, he carried a tray with two beers and the lasagna to the solarium and looked around for a place to put them.

Charlie was stapling stacks of paper with grim determination.

"Need some help?" Don asked.

Charlie shook his head. "I got it," he said.

Don set the tray on the floor and handed Charlie a beer. Charlie paused in his stapling long enough to chug most of the bottle down, probably without either tasting it or noticing what he was drinking.

Don smirked. Charlie usually nursed one bottle all night; he'd probably feel the effects of this one tomorrow.

Don left Charlie to his stapling and collected an occasional table and returned to the solarium with it. He placed the tray on the table and pulled a chair up as he watched Charlie work. He sipped on his beer, then tasted the lasagna to make sure that it wasn't too old.

After a while, Charlie began straightening the piles up. Then he leafed through them, obviously doing a final check. "What happened to the lasagna?" Charlie asked without looking up.

Don looked into the empty casserole dish. "Sorry, Buddy, it was too old."

"Damn," Charlie said.

"I'll see what's in the cupboard," Don said. He smuggled the lasagna dish out of the solarium and into the sink with the burned pot.

In a normal kitchen, like his own, there would be plenty of pre-made meals, such as frozen dinners or cans of chili. His father, however, was determined not to live like a bachelor, so he insisted on making things fresh.

Don wondered why there was almost nothing else at hand. Clearly somebody had forgotten to go to the store. Not that he was automatically blaming Charlie, mind. But with their father away…

Don munched the last apple from the fruit bowl and studied the strangely pathetic collection that he'd found. He tossed out two bananas and something that may have been a peach at one time.

He found plenty of _ingredients_, but nothing that could be turned into a meal in under ten minutes. The refrigerator held three eggs, condiments, a few slices of greyish bacon, some wilted lettuce, some rubbery celery stalks and a bottle of milk.

Don opened the milk, grimaced at the horrendous smell and dumped it down the sink. He checked the pantry next and wondered why there weren't any cereal boxes or even instant rice. All he found were flour, sugar, baking soda, a can of tuna, a can of peas, a can of sweetened condensed milk and a box of spaghetti, but no tomato sauce.

He tossed the apple core into the trash and wondered if Charlie would want to break some spaghetti.

"ARGH!" from upstairs.

It certainly sounded as if Chuck could use a ahem break.


	2. Chapter 2

F is for Food Fight

Chapter 2 of 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters

Author's Warning: NO food, NO drink.

* * *

Don dumped a small can of peas into a bowl and heated them in the microwave. He noticed as he was carrying the bowl upstairs that there were carrots in there, too. He didn't like cooked carrots and neither did Charlie. 

Ah, well, maybe Charlie wouldn't notice. He set the bowl of peas on the tray that he'd forgotten to take downstairs and studied his brother.

Charlie was sitting on the floor, staring at a sheaf of blue paper with a horrified expression on his face.

"Buddy?" Don asked tentatively. The last time Don had seen that expression on Charlie's face was when he was explaining why there was more than one copycat sniper. He put the tray on the floor and walked over to his brother, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Charlie looked up with a tragic look on his face. "I mixed up the tests!" he said. He grabbed up a green sheet and turned a bit green himself.

"What? How?" Don demanded. He crouched next to Charlie and set his beer on the floor at a safe distance from the distraught mathematician.

"What was I thinking?" Charlie wailed. Don suspected part of the drama was supplied by the beer. "I transposed question six of my Stats I final with question six of my Complex Systems final!"

"Redo the pages?" Don suggested.

Charlie looked ready to cry. "That means redoing all the tests! I've got two different versions of two tests."

Don pursed his lips. "Let me guess, the tests have the same questions, but in different order to prevent cheating."

Charlie nodded.

"And you screwed up both tests?"

Charlie nodded again. "Like I said, I pasted question six from the Stats test into the Complex Systems exam and…" his voice choked off.

"The agony of cut-and-paste," Don said. He chewed on some peas thoughtfully while he considered Charlie's dilemma. "Can't you just reprint the pages?"

"Well, yeah, but I'll still have to unstaple all of these," Charlie said, gesturing. He sighed and started to stand up. "Well, I'd better find the staple remover…"

Don swallowed the last of the peas and carrots. "Wait, I got an idea," he said. "Each test only has one question messed up, right?"

Charlie nodded.

"So, why don't you print up the correct questions, and then cut and paste them the old fashioned way?" Don mimed cutting with scissors.

Charlie took a deep breath. "That might work," he said, visibly calming down.

"Of course it will work," Don said. "I'll help."

Charlie dug his laptop out from the paper blizzard on the table. Then he frowned at Don. "Weren't you getting me something to eat?" he said, wistfully. Then he saw the empty bowl. "Oh, man!"

"Ummm..."

Charlie charged down the stairs without listening to Don's explanation. "I need something to tide me over from this horrible shock," he said. He stuck his head into the pantry and froze. "Oh, crud."

"Forgot to go to the store?" Don asked.

Charlie shot him a dirty look. "I haven't had time. It's finals, dammit."

"You have to learn to organize your time better," Don pointed out. "Dad can't baby-sit you all the time."

Charlie muttered something under his breath. He pulled out the peanut butter and a loaf of bread. However, there was no jelly or jam to be found.

Charlie sighed, but made a sandwich using the last of the peanut butter and some crystallized honey that he'd found in the back of the cupboard.

"That's disgusting," Don said.

Charlie glared. "What's wrong with peanut butter and honey?"

Don shook his head. "I was referring to the mold on the bread."

Charlie flipped the sandwich around and stared at the large green spots on the bread.

Don was impressed at the breadth and acrimony of his brother's vocabulary.

Charlie gave Don a dirty look, and then threw the sandwich and the empty peanut butter and honey jars into the trash.

"Don't blame me!" Don said, holding his hands up.

"I blame you," Charlie growled.

"I'm not the one who forgot to go to the store!"

"I did not _forget_! I had everything planned out," Charlie grumped. "I ordered supplies online last night. I was going to pick them up on my way home from school. I had enough food to last me until then, if I stretched things out by buying a sandwich for dinner." He gave Don an accusing look.

Don wasn't impressed. "You should have eaten it when you had the chance, Buddy," he said.

He checked the freezer again to see if he had overlooked anything. "Nice selection you have here, Chuck," he said. He pulled out some freezer-burned ground beef. "I've seen healthier looking meat in the morgue," he observed. He threw the pack into the sink to defrost so it could be fed to the garbage disposal.

"Were you planning on eating these cold packs?"

"Very funny," Charlie snarled.

"This carton of ice cream is empty," Don said.

"Oh," Charlie said in dejection.

"Ooo, hot dogs," Don said. "Well, one, anyway." He peeled the frozen hot dog out of its package and held it up. "Not sure if it's edible, though." He took a bite.

Charlie gaped. "It's not even defrosted!" he blurted.

"What?" Don said, finishing it off. "I'm hungry."

"_You're_ hungry?" Charlie complained.

"Isn't that what I just said?" Don asked.

"What about me?"

"You go fix your exams. I'll make you a tuna salad sandwich," Don promised.

"We don't have any bread," Charlie said tightly. He looked at the loaf in disgust and threw it in the trash.

"I'll make you a tuna salad, then," Don said.

"You'll eat it," Charlie accused.

"C'mon, Buddy, you know I hate tuna salad! Especially with celery in it."

Charlie sighed. "Fine. Thanks," he muttered. "I'd better fix those tests." He headed up the stairs.

Don hard "boiled" an egg in the microwave. Actually, he poached it, but let it sit long enough that it would be hard all the way through.

The egg was would still be warm, but beggars couldn't be choosers. While the egg was overcooking, he salvaged what he could of the celery and mixed it up with the mayonnaise and relish.

By then, the egg was finished cooking. Don poked it to make sure it was nice and hard, the way he hated it for breakfast. He picked up the lettuce and gauged that some of it was still good.

Struck by inspiration, he tore off the good leaves and chucked the bad. Then he finished mixing up the tuna salad and spooned the mixture into the leaves.

He loaded the tuna salad wraps onto a platter and snagged the last beer from the fridge. Then he carried his masterpiece to the solarium in triumph. "Here, Chuck, I told you that I could make a tuna salad!"

Charlie was not impressed. Most likely because he was no longer conscious. He was leaning against the couch in the solarium; head tilted back, eyes closed. His breathing was deep and regular and punctuated with the occasional snore.

Don shook his head. "Man, you are going to have a sore neck tomorrow, Chuckie," he said. He picked up Charlie's empty. "And a sore head," he added. He placed the bottle on the occasional table.

He debated waking Charlie up to finish fixing the exams. Then decided to see how far he'd gotten first.

The federal agent in him had to resist the urge to pull on latex gloves as he investigated this 'crime scene.' He did, however, avoid disturbing the piles of paper as he lifted one of the green sheets up to examine it.

Charlie had finished printing up the correct questions. He had obviously color coded the corrections to match the exams, too.

All that was needed was to cut up the pages of question six and paste them onto the appropriate color exam between questions five and seven.

Don grinned broadly as it dawned on him that, for the first time in his life, he was going to be able to help his genius brother with his math.

First, he had to move Charlie. It was extremely awkward, but Don managed to hoist the smaller man onto the sofa without waking him. "Man, Charlie, when was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" Don muttered. He stepped back and studied the results of his manipulation.

Sadly, Charlie's new position didn't look much more comfortable now, but at least he was out of the way.

Don sat cross legged where Charlie had been, since everything was already set up to be worked from that position. He carefully placed his beer where it wouldn't be knocked over onto the exams.

The stack of green and yellow was bigger than the stack of blue and goldenrod. Plus the header of the green and yellow pile said that the exam started at eight. The blue and goldenrod test claimed to start at 1 PM.

There were thirty-two tests in the green and yellow batch. Even though he used Charlie's paper cutter instead of scissors, Don's hand was getting tired by the time he'd finished cutting them.

The pasting wasn't physically difficult, but it was tedious. And it was tricky to work while he ate the tuna wraps. However, he managed to complete both tasks without soiling the paper. He took the empty plate downstairs and washed up. He also finished washing the dishes that had been soaking in the sink all evening.

He returned to the solarium to find that Charlie had curled up into a much more comfortable looking position.

Don started on the second stack, but ran out of steam after he'd finished cutting up the second batch of answers. It had been a long day in court. Ah, well, he'd done enough that Charlie could finish it easily before test time. He carefully 'bagged and tagged' his results in some plastic grocery bags that Charlie had lying around.

He looked around for his beer…

… and found it clutched in Charlie's hand.

Don gasped in horror. He snatched the beer up, but the bottle was empty. He hunted around for the other two bottles. They were both empty.

That explained why Charlie hadn't woken up when Don moved him.

Don shot Charlie a disgusted look. "Three beers on an empty stomach? Honestly, Charlie, you have no commonsense." He headed for his old room, muttering about beer stealing brothers.


	3. Chapter 3

F is for Food Fight

Chapter 3 of 5

Author's Warning: This story contains _graphic depictions_ of test taking. No eating or drinking while class is in session.

Author Dedication: To StatsGrandma, of course.

Author Dedication 2: To ALEO, for having sharp eyes.

* * *

Don woke up in the pre-dawn hours of Friday and wondered why he had a nagging feeling of guilt. What had he done? 

Right off, he checked his arms. Nope, he hadn't gotten a tattoo. He raised up on one elbow. No signs that anybody had shared his bed with him, so no bottle blonde off the street.

He flopped over onto his back and frowned at the ceiling as he reviewed the previous day.

He had let his team take a three day weekend because they had to be in court bright and early on Monday and he didn't want them getting started on a new case. Besides, after spending all week in court, they deserved something better than a day of paperwork. Very considerate of him. His team ought to be grateful... well, at least until Monday, when reality would set back in.

Then he had dropped by his brother's place – which explained why he was in his childhood bedroom, not his apartment – to spread the joy of his presence. He had helped his brother fix his math tests, how very kind of him!

And then...

Oh, yeah.

And then he had eaten everything in the house that was organic, chewable and non toxic.

Poor Charlie. Maybe he should feel guilty about that.

Don folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He had to make it up to Charlie. He shot a sideways look at the clock. It was five-fifteen. Charlie's first final was at eight-thirty.

That gave him plenty of time to run over to the Cravery and buy one of those Y'eggs Benedict pies for Charlie.

Come to think of it, he could use one of those egg pies himself. For some reason, he was still hungry.

He rolled out of bed, showered, dressed and wandered into the solarium to check on Charlie.

He found his brother was still asleep on the couch… and his father seated in a chair reading the paper.

"Oh, uh, hi, Dad," Don said. He rubbed the back of the neck and used all his willpower to not shuffle his feet.

"Dooonnnnie," Alan said. His father didn't raise his voice, but the way he had drawn out Don's childhood nickname did not bode well.

"So, you're back early?" Don could have kicked himself for that lame comment.

"Yes, I am," Alan said. "I was planning a quick breakfast before heading out to the links." He folded the paper and looked over his glasses at his first born. "Except there doesn't seem to be much in the way of food."

"Um. Oh. Yeah."

Alan stood up and paced over to the window and looked out. Then he turned back to Don. "Care to explain why you stormed through this house like a swarm of locusts?"

"Ah, um, Charlie's the one who lives here," Don said, feeling thirteen again. "How come you're not blaming him?"

"Because Charlie probably had the inventory calculated to the last dill pickle spear," Alan explained. "He would have left himself something more than a few eggs for breakfast."

"Oh."

"Besides, the kitchen is too clean for Charlie to have been the last one to have eaten there."

Don snorted with amusement. "I was just going to grab some Cravery pies," he said. "You want one?"

Alan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Hm, let me think."

Just then Charlie stirred and moaned a little. A few seconds later, he jerked upright with a panicky expression on his face. "My exams!"

Don walked over and grasped Charlie's shoulder. "Easy, Buddy, it's taken care of."

"What?" Charlie pulled away from Don, bolted to his feet and looked around wildly. Spotting the bags stuffed with exam papers, he grabbed one up and began thumbing through them. "These aren't fixed."

"What needed fixing?" Alan asked.

"Charlie accidentally mixed up question six," Don said. "He put the question six from his first class on the second exam; and the question six from his second class on his first exam."

"Oh, the joy of modern technology," Alan said. He went over to the work table to see for himself.

Don joined the other two and picked up the other bag. "See? I finished pasting the correct question on your first test," he said, showing Charlie the finished product. "You have plenty of time before the second test to finish it."

"Oh," Charlie blinked. "Um. Okay."

"How about we go get some breakfast?" Don said.

Charlie shook his head. "I can't. I've got to get to school. I'm running late as it is."

Alan frowned. "What time is the final?

"Your first final isn't until eight-thirty, Buddy," Don said. "It's not even six yet!"

Charlie shook his head. "You don't understand. I have a horde of panicking lower classmen swarming around my office door as we speak. They'll be weeping in their class notes and offering up their future firstborn to nameless gods to help them pass the test when they don't find me."

Charlie ran his hands through the tangled thicket that was substituting for his hair that morning. "I don't want to think of the damage they'll do themselves if I don't get over there right away."

He started for the door of the solarium and staggered a little.

Alan grabbed his arm to steady him. "You look a little rocky, my boy," he said. "Did you get _anything_ to eat last night?"

Charlie blinked owlishly at him. "Um, some coleslaw," he said. "Couple of potato chips." He shot Don a dirty look.

Don hoped he looked appropriately remorseful.

"And?" prompted Alan.

"Um, three beers, I think," Charlie said.

Alan squeezed his eyes shut and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Charlie…"

"Not three whole beers," Don said.

Charlie looked at him blankly and Alan both looked at him sternly.

"It was more like..." Don frowned. "One full beer, one half a beer and two-thirds of a beer." He passed it on to Charlie. "How many beers is that?"

"Two and one sixth," Charlie said promptly.

"I thought drinking before finals is what the students did," Alan sighed. "Have some breakfast before you go."

Charlie opened his mouth.

"Never mind," Alan said. "I forgot your brother the locust went through here last night. I suppose you have a shopping list?"

"Um," Charlie said.

"No list?"

"Actually, I was going to put an order in over at Albertson's," Charlie said. "I'll pick it up on my way home from school."

"Oh. Good. Can I pick it up earlier?" Alan said.

Charlie nodded. He grimaced and put the heel of his hand against his temple. "Um, yeah, the order is online. I'll write the password down."

Alan shook his head. "You've already told me the password you use when you order things online from Albertson's."

"Oh." Charlie blinked. "Well, all you have to do is go online and click on the 'order' button. The list is ready to go."

Alan sighed. "I know how to work a computer, little boy. No, stop dawdling, you. Go get showered, shaved and dressed!"

"Um," Charlie looked forlornly at the stacks of paper.

"We'll take care of the packing! And be sure that you change into something decent!" Alan ordered. "Long pants, young man!"

"DAD!" Charlie wailed. "All the other math professors wear shorts!"

"If all the other math professors declared that pi equaled three, would you teach it that way?" Alan challenged.

"DAD!"

"Long pants and a shirt with a collar!" Alan insisted.

Charlie flinched back a pace.

"And if you keep arguing, you'll be wearing a _tie_ to school today!"

Charlie shut up and fled to the relative safety of the bathroom.

Alan turned his stern gaze upon his firstborn. "Don't you have to be at work?"

Don took a deep breath. "Dad, you'll probably want to sit down," he warned.

"Why? What's going on, Donnie?" Alan asked in alarm. He studied his first born carefully.

Don chose his next words with great care. "I have... the day off."

Alan sat down abruptly. "Is there any of that beer left?" he asked.

"Um, no."

"Then get me a shot of whiskey," Alan demanded. "This is too much for my poor heart to take!"

Now it was Don's turn to blink owlishly. "Um, Dad, isn't it a little early…"

"What? Alan demanded, pointing at the wall clock. "It's after five!"


	4. Chapter 4

F is for Food Fight

Chapter 4 of 5

Author's Warning: This story contains _graphic depictions_ of test taking.

No eating or drinking while class is in session.

Author Dedication: To StatsGrandma, of course.

* * *

Charlie was ready in record time. He wore pressed khaki pants, a dark brown, button down shirt and black Sketchers. 

"Okay, make sure he eats something," Alan instructed Don.

"What?" Charlie asked, a bewildered look on his face.

"Donnie's driving you to school," Alan informed him.

Charlie looked ready to argue, then he checked his watch and decided against it. "Fine. Let's go," he said.

When they got into the car, Don asked. "How about a Cravery pie? I'm starving."

Charlie looked at him sternly. "I don't have time to stop for a pie," he said.

"But aren't you hungry?"

"I've had breakfast," Charlie said.

"Asprin is not breakfast," Don informed him. "Even if it is extra strength Excederin."

However, Charlie refused to let Don stop anywhere, insisting that he was already late.

When they got to Charlie's office, Don discovered that Charlie's earlier comments about swarms of weeping students had not been exaggerated.

"Professor Eppes!" one pretty co-ed sighed.

Don hadn't head that tone of voice since the last time Lois Lane had been rescued by Superman.

"Well, it looks like we have a full house, here," Charlie said. "Let's go to the room and I'll answer as many questions as I can in the next…" he looked at his watch. "Hour and forty-seven minutes."

He led the pack, answering questions as he went. Don trailed after them, noting with relief that one of the students had brought a bag of muffins. Another had a pink bakery box that was still half full of donuts.

Everybody ignored the sign that said that food was not allowed in the classroom. Don figured that nobody would notice, as even the crumbs were hoovered up by the hungry students.

He managed to get half a blueberry muffin and a cup of tepid vending machine coffee into his brother before the test started.

"My brother, the FBI agent, will be acting as proctor," Charlie announced.

The students looked at Don with huge eyes.

"Don't try anything," Charlie said a trifle smugly. "He's got the eyes of an eagle."

Don smiled a little.

Charlie finished pasting his second exam together while the students sweated through their tests.

When one of the girls began to weep, Charlie left his desk to come kneel next to her.

"Easy, Carrie," Charlie said. "It's just one test."

"I can't afford to … to fail," sniffed Carrie.

"You won't," Charlie said. "Look, you just need a seventy-three on this test to get a 'C'. Anything over an eighty-two will get you a 'B'. If you really blow this, then I'll give you an 'Incomplete' and you can retake the class over the summer."

Carrie nodded.

Charlie handed her an unused napkin. "Now, run down to the bathroom and wash your face. Take a few deep breaths and come back here. I'll give you ten minutes to recover."

Carrie nodded again and left the room.

Five minutes later, she was back in her seat, scribbling away.

The students finished one by one and handed in their tests.

They smiled at Don as they left.

The clock hands moved inexorably towards ten thirty. The remaining students kept looking up with panicky eyes before scribbling ever more frantically.

Ten thirty arrived.

"You have ten more minutes, people," Charlie said quietly.

The students looked at the clock, then at Charlie, and then ripped into their last questions like an attorney after hostile witness.

"Time's up," Charlie said at ten-forty.

There were groans all around, but the remaining students picked up their tests and handed them in.

"I'll have your grades posted online by Tuesday," Charlie promised.

Carrie lingered behind a few minutes. "Thanks, Professor Eppes, you're an angel."

Charlie smiled faintly. "Good luck," he said.

She hurried out.

Don grinned at his brother.

"What?" Charlie demanded.

"I always knew you were a braniac," Don said. "I never realized you were also a… heartiac?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Heartiac is not a word," he said.

"Cardiac!" Don said triumphantly. "Cardiac's a word!"

Charlie laughed.

"C'mon," Don said. "I need to get some more food in you."

Charlie shook his head. "I don't have time."

"What do you mean? Your next test isn't until what? One?"

Just then, a panicky looking student sidled into the classroom. "Professor Eppes?" he squeaked. "I've got a couple of questions about Chapter Fifteen…"

Don sighed. He decided to go fetch hamburgers.

Two more students fluttered in.

On second thought, he decided that he'd better get a cold sandwich. Maybe a nice pastrami on rye?


	5. Chapter 5

F is for Food Fight

Chapter 5 of 5

Author's Warning: This story contains _graphic depictions_ of test taking. No eating or drinking while class is in session.

Author Dedication: To StatsGrandma, of course.

* * *

Don thought that buying a pastrami sandwich, chips and a pickle was an appropriate gesture of apology. 

However, Charlie never did get to eat more than the pickle. He spent the entire time between tests answering questions. During the test, Charlie graded the tests from the first class.

This test was three hours.

By the time it was finished, the sandwich and the chips had disappeared. Don didn't remember eating them, but he supposed that he'd better own up to it.

The alternative was to admit that he'd allowed somebody to steal Charlie's food from under his nose.

The second test passed without any undue drama. When it was over, Charlie packed up his stuff and locked up his door. "Man, I am not looking forward to this weekend," Charlie said.

"You got a lot of work?" Don asked.

Charlie nodded, winced, and raised a hand to massage his temple. "Fortunately, I got the Statistics final out of the way," he said. "I wish they could all be that easy."

"Well, c'mon, you still haven't eaten much," Don said. "Let's go to In-and-Out. I'll get you a double-double and one of those Neapolitan shakes that you like so much."

"Great!" Charlie said. He climbed into Don's car, fastened his seatbelt and fell asleep before he got the door closed.

Don had to laugh. "Poor Charlie," he said. He patted his brother on the head and then shut the door as gently as he could and still make it latch properly.

He debated about stopping for burgers, but he decided to head for home first to see if their father wanted anything.

Alan met him at the door.

"You know, that on-line grocery ordering sure is a time saver," Alan said. "Your mother would have hated it."

Don was taken aback. "Why?"

"She liked to do the shopping because it got her out of the house for a while," Alan explained. He looked around. "Where's your brother?"

"Asleep," Don said. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go to dinner."

Alan walked over to Don's car and looked in. "You have tomorrow and Sunday off, too?" he asked.

Don nodded. "The team has to be in court next week." He sighed. "Man, I'd almost rather be on a stakeout."

Alan started to say something.

"But not really," Don finished.

Alan grinned.

"Where would you like to eat?" Don asked.

Alan laughed. "There's this great steak place in Palm Springs…" he said.

Don laughed. "Only a little out of the way," he said.

Alan sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry I said that, now I've got a craving for their cheesy potatoes."

Don stared at him for a moment before breaking into a smile. "Why not go? We could get in a few rounds of golf this weekend."

Alan blinked a few times, then a wicked grin spread across his face. "Sure, we could soak up some sun," he said. "Maybe take the Aerial Tramway up the San Jacinto and have a picnic."

Don laughed. "We should just pack up our stuff," he looked at the sleeping Charlie. "And a bag for Charlie."

Alan laughed. "We couldn't."

"Why not?" Don asked.

"Well, for one thing, I don't think we can fit three sets of golf clubs and our clothes in the trunk of your car."

"Then let's not take any clubs," Don said. "We can rent them there."

Don and Alan stared at each other and their grins got broader.

"Let me call Amita and see if Charlie has something he absolutely has to handle this weekend," Alan said.

Twenty minutes later, Amita showed up to take charge of Charlie's exams. "I'll get the ungraded tests to his TA," she said. "The only things you need to take are his laptop and Taylor's thesis. Poor Taylor will have a heart attack if Charlie doesn't go over it with her on Monday."

"Thanks, Amita," Don said. He knew now not to dismiss the academics' hyperbole as being inaccurate.

Alan came out and put his bag and Charlie's bag in the trunk. He handed Amita the keys to the house. "Take care of the koi, will you?" he said. "I'll pay you."

"You don't need…"

Alan held up one hand to stop her protest. "I remember what it was like to be a starving grad student," he said. "I'll pay you to house sit and I'll feed you Sunday dinner." He paused. "And help yourself to any food. It's all fresh." He gave Don a significant look.

Don plastered an expression of innocence on his face.

Amita looked from one to the other, then obviously decided to NOT ask about this. She just smiled and scooted off to deliver Charlie's exams to his current TA. She would have graded them herself, but she had to handle Professor Kepler's finals.

Alan put his bag in the trunk and double checked Charlie's bag before the added it.

"What?" Don said. "Don't you trust me?"

Alan rolled his eyes.

"I'm wounded," Don said.

"I'm Alan," Alan said. "Now, c'mon before the traffic gets impossible."

On that note, they headed off to Don's apartment for his gear. Afterward, they headed out to the dessert paradise that mortals knew as Palm Springs.

* * *

Epilogue: 

Charlie finally woke up when Don stopped the car at their hotel.

"C'mon, Charlie," Alan said. "Rise and shine... well, get out of the car, anyway. We're here!"

"Hmph?" Charlie muttered. He dragged himself out of the car and tried to ease the cramp in his back. Then he spotted the sign that read: "The Willows Historic Palm Springs Inn."

He stopped in mid-yawn and gaped.

"You okay, Buddy?" Don asked with a smirk.

Charlie stared at the sign and slowly closed his mouth. He looked from the sign to his brother, then to his father and back to the sign.

"Charlie?" Alan asked. "Something wrong?"

"Oh, no," Charlie sighed. "I just seem to have gotten up on the wrong side of the state."

Don laughed and flung his arms around his brother's shoulders. "That's what happens when you sleep on the job, Buddy," he said. He gave Charlie a friendly shake.

"What happened to the hamburgers?" Charlie asked, shrugging off Don's arm. "Did you eat them, too?"

Don declined to notice that question. "Come on, there's a pool here and I want to go swimming."

"How about dinner first?" Alan asked. "There's a great steak place just down the block."

"That sounds heavenly," Charlie sighed.

Don shook his head. "You guys go without me. For some reason, I'm not hungry."


End file.
